


Negative 5 Star Hotel

by myriadism



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I swear it's fluffy, Implied Violence, Kidnapping, Referenced hallucinations, Sensory Deprivation, Team as Family, Trauma, but also fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-08-24 00:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadism/pseuds/myriadism
Summary: Flynn has some criticisms about his new digs. The room service is terrible, the lights don’t work, and he’s been trapped in a cage for days because he’s actually been kidnapped. All around pretty awful. This place is getting the worst Yelp review ever when he gets home. If he gets home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look I don’t write fic. Really I don’t. (you can check, this is the very first thing I've ever posted, honestly i can't believe myself) But clearly no one else was gonna write this slightly angsty, mostly fluffy hurt/comfort kidnapped Flynn story for me so. What’s up with that guys? Oh we’ll put Ezekiel or Jake through the wringer for our whump rocks but not Flynn? I mean did you all see him in the Sword in the Stone? Bleeding out, leaning on people, crows feet? The way he looked at Eve before he even really knew her… C’mon guys let’s get with the program here.  
> Anyways this is your pretty standard kidnapping story. I try to be pretty lighthearted and vague with the details but they aren’t nice. Flynn does not take well to being cooped up. So tags for sensory deprivation, solitary confinement, violence mostly implied, some past hallucinations mentioned, a fair amount of trauma, lots and lots of comfort.  
> And I don’t write fic so who knows how many chapters this will be. I’m writing this as a way to hide from real life so I guess we’ll just see how long real life leaves me alone.

In retrospect he should of thought of it sooner. But to be fair something like this had never happened to him before.

Well it had, sort of. Flynn was the Librarian. People were always trying to kill him or stop him or capture him, Serpent Brotherhood goons, assassins, rebel terrorists, bloodthirsty monsters, you name it, there was nearly always some cult or creature or person that wanted his head either detached from his body or forcibly working for them to solve some puzzle they couldn’t figure out on their own.

But this was different.

No one had ever tried to just— hold him before. He never had a chance. From when he woke up from the drugs in the cage to the long, long uncountable time he spent alone, trapped in the dark, they simply had him.

He won’t soon forget the blank awful terror that consumed him as he felt up and down the bars of his small prison to find no door, no seams, no hinges, and no _lock_. They had welded the bars together into a cage over top of him while he lay unconscious. There would be no opportune times to distract them and make a break for it. There wouldn’t be any negotiating, or leveraging, or taking advantage of circumstances. And he couldn’t Houdini his way out of a lock that didn’t _exist_. They never intended to move him or sell him or use him or do anything with him at all.

Oh sure, they’d stuck him up with all sorts of truth potions to try and interrogate him for what it was worth but they pretty quickly got the message that they wouldn’t get anything out of him. Or rather they got everything out of him, the complete and honest truth too, but since he said all of it in the Language of the Birds, which no one had ever managed to translate until he did it himself, it was functionally the same thing.

They didn’t seem to find that loophole as funny as he did, judging by the bruises.

So instead of trying to kill him or force him to work for them or any other evil, villainous, maniacal plots, they just left him. Feeding him, watering him just enough to keep him alive, like their whole un-ambitious plan was to stop him from interfering in whatever they wanted to do but also keep another librarian from being called up due to his passing (of course there were now three other capable librarians back at the annex, not that he was gonna mention the fact to any of these jerks). It was baffling, and horrifying to his very core.

 

\---

 

Anyways here he was with a pee soaked ascot trying to bend metal with his bare hands. And it was working. Of course it was working, because he was brilliant, his previous failure to think up the idea aside (and if he mutters “wet shirt don’t break” to himself over and over like a mantra, well. It’s not like he isn’t still brilliant. You can be a genius and still watch a good move every now and again. You can).

He was the Librarian and he was going to escape.

God his hand hurt though. But that wasn’t important, he just needed to pull that bar a little harder, press that leverage just a little more, even if he ended up using his own bones as the fulcrum… It was working! He could feel the metal giving way, and then he was pressing his shoulders through, exhaling all of his air and squeezing as hard as he could. He’d always been a skinny guy and he’d gotten even skinnier since coming here, really the room service was awful, he only needed a little bit of opening, c’mon… And then he was out!

“Hah!” Flynn yelled triumphantly. He giggled. He stretched his limbs, pumped his arms, and skipped in a circle. He was unstoppable! And if his frenzied celebratory dance looked totally crazy it didn’t matter because he was alone in this completely dark room and no one could see him anyway. He couldn’t see himself even. He hadn’t seen a single light in here since day one, aside from the blinding brightness whenever one of his captors opened the door to bring or take away food dishes. Which they didn’t do often, or regularly, had he mentioned how bad the service was?

Regardless he made short order of examining the room with his other senses, pacing out the dimensions, and ~~licking~~ feeling the walls. He eventually determined that he was in one of those large metal shipping containers, locked from the outside, which explained some of the sensation of movement he’d thought he felt during periods earlier. It made sense too that they were moving him around to evade detection; no wonder Eve was taking such a long time finding him. He missed her. No matter, he was going to escape anyways, they could meet halfway.

Flynn gathered his wits and made a mental account of his situation. Eventually, someone would open the door. He didn’t have a weapon, or a phone, or shoes. And when the door opened he’d probably be completely blinded by light for a while. But none of that was important. He had the element of surprise and he had his mind. That was all he needed.

He was the Librarian and he was going to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes that is a reference to the movie 'Shanghai Noon'. I looked it up just for plausibility and apparently wet fabric does seem to have more tensile strength than dry, at least depending on the type and weave. I don't know how far you'd get trying to bend metal bars without any sort of lever though. I suspect it would probably break your bones if you tried it the way Flynn is here, if it worked at all, but what do I know I'm just a writer. Anyways, go Flynn! Kick their asses for locking you up! Serves them right!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theme for this chapter is narrative irony.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this one guys.”

“Ezekiel, you’ve said that about every one so far.”

“Well I gotta get lucky eventually mate, it’s like, my thing.”

“How about having a little respect as your thing, huh? How about taking it seriously that Flynn’s been missing for days, and your luck and your feelings aren’t doing anything to help, Jones! Huh? How about that!”

“Hey, I’ve been helping plenty—“

“Shut up!” Baird hisses and all three immediately fell silent. She’d been scary after the first couple days, now she was downright terrifying, like a supernatural force of concentrated rage. She could probably literally kill someone with a look.

They were all concerned for her almost as much as they were for Flynn.

“Look sharp.” She ground out. She gestured to a group of guards as Ezekiel, Cassandra, and Jacob started to move into position.

Guards were good. It meant this place was important enough to protect so it probably had information about their organization, information like where Flynn was being held, or even more improbably (but possible, with every raid they had to remind themselves that it was still possible) Flynn himself.

Eve gave the signal by rounding the corner and punching out thug #1 with one hit. The rest hurried into the fight behind her.

They were going to find him.

 

\---

 

There are some weird noises coming from outside, vague yelling and thumping, muffled by the metal of the container. Flynn dismisses them. It mattered to him not at all if his captors were fighting, or having a party, or whatever. They’d talked to him a little at first, mostly shouted commands, insults, and interrogatives. But between all the Language of the Birds stuff and time he spent alone in the dark, he’d stopped listening to whatever they said, letting it fade out to white noise in the back of his head. It wasn’t like they’d listened to him either, not his cajoling or his pleading. Eventually he decided that they had nothing worth saying to him.

He made note of the sounds approaching his door though.

The door creaked, and he was out of it like a ball from a cannon. Barreling through one or two people in the process.

“Aah! Ow.”

“Cassandra!”

“Is that—Flynn?”

His eyes screwed up tight and streaming tears against the light he takes a fleeting moment to assess. He can feel gravel through the patch worn socks on his feet, the air smells fresh… salty? And tilting his head upwards, he can detect warmth and a distinctly yellowish glare through his eyelids. He was outside. These people were more ridiculous than he thought; it really grated on him to be honest, not even a secret lair or underground bunker? C’mon this was just embarrassing!

            And— he was outside!

Someone tries to grab him but he quickly heads them off and dashes away cackling like a madman. Just try to catch him now!

“Argh! He bit me! What the hell?!”

“Flynn? Wait stop, Flynn it’s us!”

“Stop running! Come back!”

“FLYNN!”

Using the sound of his own laughter to echo-locate his surroundings is pretty hard with the rushing sound of his blood pumping hard in his ears. But he manages. And if he runs into a few metal container walls or trips one or twice well, it’s nothing he hasn’t done before, and he won’t let it slow him down. He’s going to escape. He’s going to find his way to Eve.

Briefly his mind spares a few neurons to picture what he must look like right now, in the dirty remains of a suit sans jacket, thin and pale, with matted hair and the beard growth of who knows how many days, his eyes still welling tears, and laughing in between his gasps for air. _Completely crazy? Yup still got it_ he thinks sardonically. But he’s winning so it hardly matters, blind, sleep deprived, food deprived, shoes deprived and he’s still making his escape. Still got it indeed.

The goon-squad is hard on his heels from what he can hear and he tries to loose them by turning corners, counting his steps and keeping track of his direction, trying to calculate the likely layout of this place. Somewhere he makes a mistake and finds himself at a dead end. Damn. He briefly attempts to climb sheer metal walls like Spiderman but that’s a no go. And he can hear the group of his captors rounding the corner blocking his way out. So he stills, feeling very much like a rat trapped in a maze, and listens intently. There are only four of them. He can do this.

“Flynn, it’s us man. We’re here to rescue you.”

“It’s ok Flynn just calm down.”

“Yeah, we got you mate, no need to keep up the running act.”

“Flynn. It’s us, it’s Eve. You’re safe now.”

“I’m not going back” He informs the nattering guards. His voice is low and dangerous as he waits for an opening.

“What are you talking about man?”

“Flynn?”

“Flynn, it’s ok—“

There it is as one of them steps forwards and he bursts into action, throwing the gravel stones he’d collected in his pocket as hard as he can and aiming for the hole they’d make cringing away. His arms flailing wildly to hit any obstacles out of his path, he’s almost through, almost! When a strong arm catches him firmly in the middle and doesn’t let go. He struggles. He writhes and bites and hits and snarls. But there are more hands on him instantly, holding his arms, keeping him from escaping and he can’t, he can’t—

“Flynn stop it, Flynn!”

“Ow! Jake, hold him!”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Flynn, it’s Eve! You’re safe! We’re taking you back home to the Library! It’s ok Flynn, stop struggling! It’s ok!”

“No!” He roars. Fighting desperately “I’m not going back! You can’t—NO! I’m not going back!” but he hasn’t had a proper meal in god knows how long and he can feel himself waning. “No! Help! HELP ME! EVE!”

“I’m right here, Flynn! I’m right here, it’s ok, I’ve got you!”

“Jenkins we’ve got Flynn, get us a door!”

They’re dragging him along, despite his best efforts and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He kicks his feet, elbows his holders as hard as he can, shakes his fists, screaming and yelling and spitting, and they drag him along. There’s an even brighter flash, a feeling of movement that doesn’t make sense and then he realizes they’ve gone through some sort of threshold. Because the light is different and the air smells different and he’s inside again, and they have him now, they **have him**.

He goes limp. _No, no no nonononononono. Eve. I’m sorry Eve, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t escape._ He can feel their hands on him, holding him and talking but he tunes it out. He tunes everything out. He knows that now he managed to almost escape once they’ll take more precautions the next time and he doesn’t even want to know what that will look like. Solitary for days on end in a tiny cage in the dark was rough enough. Or maybe they’ll actually just kill him now for all the trouble. Either way he doesn’t want to be particularly cognizant when it happens. So he retreats inside himself, as far as he can go. _I’m sorry Eve._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I warned you about the angst didn't I? Seriously though, Flynn's gonna be fine he's just a little mixed up. I mean haven't you ever tried to navigate your bedroom in the dark and ended up stepping on a thousand legos you could have sworn you never even had and just decided to give up on life for a while? We've all been there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I don't know how hallucinations work. Ask Flynn about it. When he's feeling better.

 Jenkins was waiting with a relieved smile at the door he connected for the team. Ready to welcome back his flighty, danger-prone, but endearing boss. Or at least the guy he lets think is the boss of him. Or whatever. It’ll be good to have him back. He seriously had thought Colonel Baird might accidentally kill someone with her glare these past few days.

But when they came through that smile dropped from his face faster than a fairy drops cold iron. Flynn looked, well terrible was the only word for it. He was utterly filthy, pale and gaunt, a patchy grown out beard on his face along with tangled hair, heavy bags under his reddened eyes, and that’s not even to mention the injuries which Jenkins eyes automatically moved to catalog.

The most obvious was his left hand sporting puffy bruises and inflamed abrasions, probably broken bones somewhere underneath it all. His feet clad only in socks were bloody, who knows how they looked underneath that dirt. He could see some older bruises on his exposed arms and face. Small surface level abrasions, scuff marks all over… it was hard to tell what else under all that grime. As he approached Jenkins also took in the rest of the team, they were all shaken, Cassandra had small red marks over her forehead, Jones looked like he’d been punched in the mouth, Stone appeared to have an honest to god bite mark on his arm, and Colonel Baird… the expression on her face was just broken.

“What on earth happened?”

Eve turned her terrible expression on him. “I’m not sure… Flynn, he didn’t recognize us. I don’t think he even knew what was happening. What could they have done to him?” She demanded, her eyes wet and haunted.

And Jenkins had no answer to that so he settled for examining his wayward Librarian more closely. Contrary to his fist impression, Flynn doesn’t actually seem to be unconscious despite being held up off the floor only by Eve and Jacob, so much as completely out of it. He is murmuring incoherently under his breath, his eyes closed, but when Jenkins tries to shine his penlight in them to check for concussion he flinches back. Still he doesn’t respond to Eve brushing her hand over his face, he doesn’t respond to her calling his name.

Jenkins has no answers.

Eventually Eve rallies, “Ok. It’s ok. He’s home now. Whatever this is, we can help him.”

“Yes.” Jenkins agrees. They got to work.

 

 ---

 

Something is wrong and it bothers him.

Even though Flynn is hiding as far back in his mind as he can go something keeps nagging at him. Something from out in the world. Something important that he missed. He doesn’t want to go back and he does his best to ignore it but despite his best efforts he finds himself aroused with curiosity. Very slowly, he becomes aware of his body again. He’s propped up against something soft, half sitting half lying down. And he feels... weird? Warm, and dare he say comfortable? It doesn’t make any sense. There are noises too. Voices. Not loud, not angry, just voices talking. He’s missing something important he can feel it.

“It’s ok Flynn, you’re home. You’re safe now Flynn, it’s ok. Just open your eyes for me. Can you do that Flynn? Can you just open your eyes, please?”

He knew that voice. That was the nice voice. It was the strong voice, the good voice, the honey and cream and sugar and spice voice.

“Open your eyes for me Flynn, you can do it, just open your eyes.”

So he did. He cracked open his lids and when the dimmed light didn’t hurt him he opened them all the way.

Ah. There it was. The Annex filled with books and a warm golden glow. And there was good old Jenkins, and his former little LITs, Cassandra crying, Ezekiel with the biggest grin, Jacob with his arms around both of them. And there was Eve, her face full of love and safety and home. It was perfect, it was so much exactly what he wanted to see he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t believe it.

Flynn screwed his eyes shut again, curled his arms over his head, and rolled over to press his face against the cushion. “Not real.” He croaked.

“What?”

“What do you mean not real?”

“Oh Flynn…”

A very convincingly solid hand touched his back and he shuddered. Of course he was hallucinating. He’d started seeing stuff pretty quickly after they’d left him in the cage. With his mind, his knowledge and imagination it was no wonder, honestly. What else was he supposed to do in the dark, alone, for what felt like eternity?

That had been the worst part for him probably, if he thought about it. Fear of certain death? That he could do, he’d had a lot of practice with that one. But this had been… just nothing. Just a void. Just stuck and trapped with nothing to do and he couldn’t take it anymore! The hallucinations, the waiting, the trying to think of a way out, he just couldn’t take it.

“Why isn’t it real Flynn?”

Eve’s voice again, coming out of the dark to talk to him. What the hell, he might as well tell her.

“Can’t be real.” He explained. “Didn’t escape.” And boy didn’t that one hurt to admit he thought with a choked off sob.

“Oh Flynn… you didn’t _have_ to. We came to rescue you.”

“And I’d say you did pretty good with the escaping too mate, you almost got away from us, even bit Stone, like that was savage.”

 

            Wait. Bit who?

 

He untangled himself enough to grab Jacobs arm and pull it closer where he could see it.

“Whoa! Easy man!”

That was his bite mark. He’d know it anywhere. What was it doing there on Jake’s arm? “That’s where I bit one of their guys.”

“You bit me, dude. We’d taken care of all the guards by then.”

It didn’t make any sense. His mind started racing trying to figure it out. Why would his subconscious give Jacob a wound? Why were his hallucinations tactile now when they had been only audio-visual before? Those sort of illusions were typically only symptoms of severe mental illness or a sensory deprivation chamber, and while his sense of sight had certainly been deprived, he’d had more than enough input with the cold and the hunger and the pain for his sense of touch. Was he dreaming? Was this some sort of new level in his captors’ plans for him? What was going on and how did he know what was real?

Flynn looked around at the Annex and everything he loved again. He certainly knew what he wanted to believe— their faces were all so hopeful. Although now that he was paying more attention, everything wasn’t as perfect as it had looked at first. They looked worried. Tired and strung out. Ezekiel had blood on his teeth. Not much but someone must have popped him in the mouth. With an elbow maybe? Cassandra had these little bruises on her face, like if someone had thrown a bunch of small hard objects directly at her head. He thinks back to the noises outside he’d heard earlier before the door had opened. Something about Occam’s razor was starting to pester him in the back of his head. Ok, deep breath. Logic. He could do this.

“I—…its soft. I’m sitting on something soft—comfy. They haven’t put me back in the cage again” He shudders to even mention it, but as far as he can tell it’s true. He’s not in the cage right now. His eyes bounce around the Annex taking in as many details as he can. It’s different from the last time he was here, the main table is completely trashed with maps and atlases (though to be fair it was always a mess with something) and there’s a big board up with what looked like plans to find himself. His imagination was good, but was it that good? Then he looks down at his hand and oh.

“I’m not hurt. Not— not anymore than I was… some— somebody treated my wounds.” His feet too were wrapped up. He hadn’t even noticed them hurting. He hears a faint ‘you’re welcome sir’ from Jenkins. If he doesn’t hurt and he’s not back in the cage then it doesn’t make sense that his captors still have him. Not that he’d been great at predicting what they’d do so far, but sitting him on a couch and cleaning up his injuries didn’t seem likely. And then there were all the things his photographic memory was trying to bring up with him. Some voices he should have known, things said that he hadn’t heard at the time but were starting to come back to him and make a little bit more sense now.

For the final test he turns toward Eve. Flynn reached out his hand and hers was just there. He took it in completely, feeling it’s weight, rubbing his fingers over her callouses feeling every wrinkle and ridge of her palm, kissing the smooth skin on the backside, and he looked straight at Eve.

When he imagined her before, in the dark she had looked flawless, smiling, and happy. This Eve looked tired, like she’d been stressed and angry for a while now. She looked like she wanted to cry. She looked like she loved him so much it hurt.

“Eve.” He said. “...I’m hungry and I’m tired and my feet hurt. And I miss you Eve, I miss you so much.”

“Not anymore you don’t.” She declared. “I’m right here Flynn.”

And just like that he realizes that she is. She was right where he needed her. Just like always. He says her name again but it comes out as a sob and he collapses into her arms. He was ok. He was with Eve, he was home. Everything was going to be ok now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, there it is. The comfort. The sweet, sweet, saccharine comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the fluff times roll.

Flynn would never have previously thought taking a simple bath would make him so happy. But this was his life now. He giggled a little, humming cheerfully and swishing his un-bandaged hand through the water. It was lukewarm and quickly getting filled up with suds and grime coming off him in waves. But he was feeling clean again. Finally. Eve’s perfect soft-strong beautiful hands are going through his hair, teasing out the tangles and gently massaging his scalp. It’s wonderful, even if he’s so weak and exhausted that those hands are also probably the only things holding him up from drowning in the tub.

He’s talking a mile a minute. And he knows he isn’t very coherent. Worse even than his usual rambling, he trails off, forgets what he was saying, and he’s only 80% certain that he’s actually speaking English. But it doesn’t matter because Eve listens to him anyway, making agreeable grunts at the right places, asking him to elaborate even when it won’t help, occasionally adding in a few choice words of her own. She just listens to him and he loves it so much, ok that sounds egotistical he knows, but…

“I mean those guys were not up for holding a conversation let me tell you--All my jokes flew completely over-head. Like birds. A whole flock of birds. Then again I might have been speaking Birds so who knows. Woulda given anything for a little birdie though. You know? Even a bug or a volleyball or just something? So much to talk about so little—so long? Too long—without anybody to, you know. Like days or weeks or—Hmn. Actually you would know wouldn’t you? So how long was it then?”

“Hmm? How long was what?”

“How long was I out?”

She crinkled her nose as she thought back to Flynn, lying insensible on the couch, letting himself be moved about like a puppet, there but not there all at the same time. “You know I didn’t check the clock. It felt like forever, but couldn’t have been more than an hour.”

“Huh?” Flynn replayed the conversation in his head, caught onto the miscommunication and did his best to correct. “Oh no, no I mean out. Out of network. Out of bounds. Out of town. You know. How long?”

“Oh.” She frowned and told him the time down to the hour and minute from the last time she’d seen him. “You didn’t count the days?” She asked.

The water sloshed as he shifted a little. “It was always dark. Irregular meals. Couldn’t keep track.”

“Oh Flynn…” and now she was crying oh shit. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Hey now, c’mon Eve don’t cry. If you cry then I’m gonna cry and I’m already dehydrated. Jenkins might bust in here and make me drink more of his terrible potions.”

Laughing and crying at the same time, was that better?

“Seriously” He said. “They taste awful, like if a soft drink was made out of chicken noodle soup. It’s an abomination of food, I don’t care how malnourished I am—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eve…”

“I’m sorry it took us so long to find you. I’m your Guardian and they were hurting you and I’m so, so sorry it took us so long.”

“It’s ok Eve, it’s over now. Like you said. It’s over, you’re here, I’m here, everything is fine.” She doesn’t seem convinced and he can’t think of what else to say so he kisses her. Presses his forehead against hers, she smells like soap and salt and everything good and they just hold each other across the wall of the tub for a while. Then a sniff as Eve pulls herself back together. She chuckles just a little. “Look at us, I’ve got your soap in my hair, you’re half asleep, and that beard of yours is almost starting to look cute, if scratchy.”

“Please shave it off immediately.” He asks her.

“Alright, lets rinse you off.”

It takes Eve a little more manhandling but she eventually gets Flynn washed off, somewhat dry, ensconced in towels, sitting on the closed toilet seat. She gently presses her hand to his lips “If I’m going to shave you I need you to stop talking.”

At the disappointed noise he makes she relents. “Humming is acceptable.”

He brightens and starts humming loudly to the tune of ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game’ but he puts too many syllables at the end of the line which makes Eve suspect he has replaced the lyrics with his own words. She’d have to ask to hear the full version later. Her hands are soft on his face and Flynn is so, so happy. He’s filled with warmth and sunshine and probably rainbows too and when Eve finishes up, he enthusiastically leans on her as she helps him to their bedroom and flop onto the mattress before she lies down beside him.

“Should I leave the lights on?” She asks him and god how did he ever get this lucky.

“Lights on.” He confirms. Snuggling up to her like cuddling is going out of style. It’s safe and comfortable by her side wrapped up together with his nose pressing into her hair, if only he didn’t have to shut his eyes and actually go to sleep. As tired as he is he’d rather stay in this moment forever. Also he really had no idea what his brain was going to try and show him when he dreamed tonight. So there was that. Maybe he could swing a lucid dream tonight but he kind of doubts it with how much his mental faculties feel like swiss cheese at the moment.

He’d gotten really good at lucid dreaming once, a long time ago, reading through multiple texts on the subject and practicing every night just to see how far he could take it. But eventually he dropped the hobby. He could manifest in his dreams whatever he wanted, but what he actually enjoyed most was the unconscious intuitive surprises that his mind could cook up every night all on it’s own. That said something about him probably, that given the choice; he went for experiencing the unknown every time.

“Go to sleep Flynn, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He really was the luckiest guy on earth.

 

 ---

 

If it took Flynn a long time to go to sleep, it took Eve even longer. She kept replaying the events of his kidnapping in her mind, trying to picture what she could have done differently, _anything_ she could have done differently to have stopped this from happening. She knows it’s a pointless exercise, worse than pointless even to beat herself up over this after the fact. But she’s the Guardian for goodness sake, it’s her job to keep Librarians safe, and Flynn is more than just her Librarian.

Flynn is hers full stop.

Someone had taken her partner, her everything, her _Flynn_ and hurt him like this, kept him locked up in the dark, cold and hungry and who knows what else before she’d had a chance to stop them. It burned her. She felt absolutely sick with her failure.

 _Pull yourself together, soldier_ she tells herself. _Flynn still needs you._

Perhaps better than anyone she knew the toll that an experience like this could take on a person. She didn’t know exactly what Flynn had gone through, she hadn’t had the heart to really debrief him, and his ramblings were not particularly forthcoming (what he told her about being kept in the dark aside). But his behavior was telling. The desperation he’d fought with to escape, his disorientation and fear, how he’d completely disassociated earlier in the Annex. The sheer fact he’d thought they were all hallucinations at first horrified her and solidified her determination.

She was going to keep her Librarian safe and that included making him feel safe, and loved, and whatever else he needed to heal. _He’s home now_ she reminds herself. _We can help him._

 

 ---

 

Later on in the night something wakes her. She isn’t sure what until she realizes a warmth is missing from her side. Looking over she sees Flynn, still in bed but not touching her anymore. Somehow in his sleep he’d moved away and curled up into a small tight ball. Eve couldn’t see his face but his shoulders looked so tense she reaches out a hand without thinking. The second she touches him Flynn gasps and flinches with his entire body. Uncurling in a flail of limbs before cringing back together again with his arms braced up over his face. Between them she could see his eyes open wide, fearfully darting all over the room before coming to settle on her.

“Eve?” He asks, very quietly.

“It’s ok Flynn, I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re safe, at home.” She tries to keep her private horror out of her voice.

He stares at her for a moment more but comes back to himself soon enough with a shaky sigh. Scrubbing over his face with his hands he carefully unfolds. She can hear him trying to force his breathing back into a calm and normal rate.

She wants to grab him tight and never let go. She wants to kiss him and love him so much that it wipes away anything bad that had ever happened to him. She wants to be able to reach her hands directly into his complicated beautiful brain and just fix this for him, make it so he will never have to be afraid ever again. But she can’t do that. She’s seen enough soldiers with PTSD to know that you can’t fight another person’s inner demons for them. The best you can do is simply be there with them in the battle.

So Eve waits for him, she doesn’t want to push, she knows Flynn has developed his own methods of coping over the years he’d been a Librarian alone.

Then she hears him murmur a low “Sorry” while still rubbing at his eyes and she decides to step in.

“Don’t be sorry. Come here.”

He does and she pulls him in close, cradling the back of his head with her hand. She doesn’t know what to say. Eve knows that of the two of them she’s the one with more practice being a person, more practice connecting to people and helping with words of support and encouragement. But she doesn’t know what the right words are here; maybe there aren’t any right words. She wishes for some magical incantation that would help her, some string of enchanted syllables that would make everything better. But that’s more Flynn’s department. She settles for holding him close and simply breathing together, hoping perhaps that everything she felt for him would transfer over through osmosis. Eventually Flynn’s breathing calms enough to sync up with hers and just before she thinks they’re about to both fall asleep again Eve suddenly thinks of something to say.

“You came back alive, Librarian.” she whispers.

She feels his soft huff of air brush across her skin and he answers.

“So I did, Guardian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious Flynn absolutely spent some of his solitary time making up new lyrics for the tune 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game' that he changed into 'Take Me Back to the Library' and sung it often as loud and annoyingly as he could.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regular programming.

Flynn is, well, pretty knowledgeable about pretty much everything. It’s kind of his job. So he’s not a stranger to the concept of trauma. He knows intellectually that what he’s gone through is classified as torture. But he doesn’t want to think about it like that. If he made a big deal about every bad painful scary thing that happened to him in this job how would he ever get anything done? How would he keep the job, how could he justify staying as long as he did, loving it as much as he did, if he let the horror crawl up out of his throat and get to him? Better to simply chalk it all up as an awful excuse for a learning experience and leave it at that. Just one more day that he almost died but didn’t so it’s not important now is it?

 _But you wouldn’t have died_ , his stupid traitor mind thinks. _They were keeping you alive. You would have been there forever if you hadn’t escaped, **forever**._

Still he had, one way or another, and he’ll be dammed if he’s gonna let some thing that could have happened but didn’t keep him down. So he kicks those thoughts and memories to the curb whenever they come up and focuses on the now. Going forward, looking ahead and never back.

This was how he survived before, fighting as THE Librarian, one and only, by himself for ten years. But things are different now, better actually, to have people in his life—in his world— that care about him and depend on him. Still, it can be more challenging like this too. More challenging like trying to find a way to apologize to your coworkers for attacking them while they tried to rescue you that isn’t utterly embarrassing or pitiful.

Still, Flynn has always been game for a challenge so the next day he shows up at the Annex, fresh pressed suit, haircut, an easy smile on his face, looking for all the world like he’d just been away at some conference for a while and not trapped in a small cage not big enough to even stand up in for so long that he’d been ready to vibrate out of his own skin. He was fine. He could do this.

His first idea had been a card but he couldn’t find one that said “Sorry for punching/biting/throwing things at you” so he’d have to just settle for a face-to-face apology. Instead he brought donuts. The sugary treat pretty much guaranteed that Jones would forgive him so he focused his attention on Cassandra and Jake. The redhead’s face was black and blue with small bruises and he winced to see it.

“Here, it’s healing salve. Very good, just a little bit magic, should clear that up in no time at all—” he cuts off because Cassandra was hugging him tight enough to squeeze all the air out of his lungs.

“Thank you Flynn! It’s so good to have you back.” She exclaimed fervently, her eyes bright and wet and oh god if she started crying he was going to lose it. Jake intervened thankfully crowding in over his shoulder to look at the humble container of salve.

“Got any more of that for bite-marks?”

Flynn produces another one from his pocket with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry about that.” He says. Jake shrugs it off but can’t seem to resist some teasing, because he replies with a grin.

“So long as I don’t get rabies, we’re fine.”

“What! Rabies? Me?! That’s—that is ridiculous, and offensive, and—Rabies?? Really!” Flynn expounds for a good twenty minutes on the gross unlikeliness of his contracting rabies, eventually going off onto a tangent about it’s connection to lycanthropy and whether or not rabies evolved first or if the disease actually derived from lycanthropy as a watered down non-magical version as magic was drained from the world. He was half faking his affront though, because Jake’s well-timed excuse for levity allowed him a little normalcy that was quickly putting everyone at ease. Good old Stone, he’d have to find some way to make it up to him later.

Flynn is able to pass off sitting at his desk for most of the day as laziness instead of staying off his feet because they were still tender. Jenkins suspects he is sure but lets him keep his dignity. Eve is less subtle, hovering over him as she rearranges some papers on its surface (ok technically it’s their desk, not just his) and murmuring in his ear “I thought I said you should rest? You didn’t have to come in today.”

“I wanted to.” She doesn’t look impressed, so he breaks out the puppy-dog eyes. “Aw c’mon Eve. I missed the place.”

He grins when she sighs fondly knowing he’s won this round at least. And turns back to the incredibly productive origami flowers he’s making out of scratch paper. Eve might have an aneurysm if he actually tried to work on anything today and he does love her so he’ll save that fight for tomorrow.

In the meantime he can feel the Library settling around him like he’d never been away. Stone helps Jenkins pick up and put away all the maps, plans, and random artifacts that had been used in the LIT's attempt to locate him, which Flynn appreciates because it is a little morbid to look at now that he’s back. Cassandra apparently had an idea about multidimensional laser array imagery algorithms that has her completely zoned out in her corner with the occasional gasp and dash for a reference book. And Jones predictably commandeers a seat at the table next to the donut box while doing something with his phone that is either playing a game or writing a computer virus. Even Cal floats over to say hello, Flynn gives him a few friendly pats along with a promise to spar later when he feels up to it.

In short, there really is no place like home.

 

\---

 

Ezekiel Jones is not mollified by donuts. He doesn’t blame Flynn of course, for elbowing him in the teeth. Though it had hurt. Instead he is… disturbed. He’s not sure any of the others saw it, certainly Baird hadn’t, but he’d been too curious not to take a peek inside that metal container before running after Flynn. And what he saw was… let’s just say that Ezekiel has seen more prisons, lock-ups, and vaults than probably any person had a right to and he’d never seen anything like that. It looked like a dog kennel honestly, and Flynn couldn’t really have spent the entire time he was away cooped up in there could he? Except obviously he had, Ezekiel could still picture his weird foppish tie thing tied to the bent bars whenever he closed his eyes.

He won’t admit to worrying about the guy— Ezekiel Jones does not worry about other people— and Flynn and him had never been very close anyway, but the image of that small dark cage haunted him.

It’d be easier if Flynn were actually a heartless uncaring jerk like it’s easy to pretend he is when he’s at his most obnoxious, instead of the hapless over-caring dork they all knew him to be.

Ezekiel recalls how Flynn had come to him after everything with Prospero had finally been resolved and attempted to council him about the whole video game fiasco (apparently Baird had filled him in and wasn’t that annoying). It had been one of the most awkward, uncomfortable moments of his life. Flynn more or less cornered him in a room to talk, stuttering and beating around the bush, unwilling apparently to confront him outright but also refusing to let him avoid help.

 _“Yes of course you don’t remember—no I understand—but if you ever, uh,_ hypothetically _were to remember anything— like say if a wizard had trapped you in a memory altering spell and someone had broken you out in a way that might force you to recall the entire story of your life up to and including a time loop which wasn’t a time loop— yes, yes I know, NOT a time loop— but functionally impacting in the same way that a time loop would—you should know that you aren’t alone. Librarians in the past have reported being trapped in similar paradoxes and there’s also a fairly common literary tradition about these ‘Groundhog Day’ experiences—terrible name really— and even fictional resources and re-tellings can help one to put their own experiences into context—I mean, I should know—so I took the liberty of compiling a list for you to peruse and here: these are the most relevant ones in my opinion—I’ll just put them on the table here, um, and… ok so I_ might _have overthought this and feel free to just chuck it in the trash if so—but apparently there exists an entire subsection of video games that are made to be calming and relax the player and since everyone insists that it was NOT a time loop but instead a video game thing it seemed, um, fitting that, uh—I know you like video games so I just picked up a few that had good reviews for anxiety and stress relief? No don’t thank me, I don’t know anything about video games, enjoy them or don’t or whatever. And... If you ever want to talk to someone… uh, honestly Eve or one of the others would be your best choice—but I don’t want you to think that I’m_ unavailable _to you, or that I wouldn’t… Just ask. OK? ok. That’s all I’ve got. Good talk, I’ll uh—see you around—sometime—bye.”_

At the time Ezekiel had been running on about two hours of sleep and behind his cringing was mostly just thankful that the conversation hadn’t required any input from him whatsoever. He only picked up the pile of books and video games to keep them from cluttering up the table honestly. And he certainly never went to Flynn again to talk about it, but he did enjoy the new games, despite himself. There were only a few video games he could play anymore because most of his collection had consisted of first person shooters or horror style games he was now unwilling to touch. It was something to do when nightmares kept him awake. Eventually Baird and Stone and Cassandra had taken note of the bags under his eyes and pestered him about it, not leaving him alone until he’d all but been forced to recover his emotional equilibrium or endure more group hugs. Ugh. They were terrible, but they tried their best and somehow that made it all right? Good even? Flynn included?

Things were so much simpler when all Ezekiel Jones could count on was being awesome by himself. Still, he’s nothing if not up for a challenge. He observes Flynn surreptitiously out the corner of his eye and eats another donut.

It’s while Flynn is with Jenkins and Colonel Baird in the lab getting his hand injury redressed—and Ezekiel doesn’t even want to think about how he suspects he got that sort of injury—that the others come over to confer.

“Do you think he’s really ok?” Cassandra asks. “I mean he looks much better now but… he’s still so pale, and he’s thinner too… a human male of his age and height/weight ratio could survive without food for…” She trails off and starts flicking invisible numbers through the air with her hands.

“Cassie.” Jake interrupts. “He’s probably not ok right now, none of us would be. It’ll just take some time.”

“I know” She sighs, wiping at her eyes again. “It just seems so—I mean—it’s _Flynn_.”

They all fall silent at that, staring at the compass pattern in the Annex floor. This was where everything began for them. This was where Flynn offered them the job of Librarians, where he took them out of their small ordinary worlds and dropped them into a wider universe of magic and wonder that opened their eyes and their hearts and changed them forever. They all owed Flynn more than they could ever repay for bringing them together, for bringing them to the Library.

Stone turns to Ezekiel. “You’re being quiet, Jones. What did you see in that container? I saw you look.”

Ezekiel shrugs, not sure he even wants to talk about it. “I dunno, it was dark in there.”

“C’mon man. Flynn was talking about a cage when he first got back. Was it in there? Did you see it?” Jake won’t let up, so Ezekiel relents.

“…Yeah,” He swallows and unconsciously wraps his arms around himself. “It was… small.”

“What d’ya mean small? How small?”

“Did you see any lights?” Cassandra cuts in.

“No, why?”

“Well do you think it was dark all the time where he was then? That would be extreme sensory deprivation. It could explain how disoriented he was when we found him, why he kept his eyes shut, and why he thought he was hallucinating us.”

The three of them lapse into a grim silence again.

“So what do we do?” asks Ezekiel.

“We help him, however we can. Whatever he needs.” Jake replies immediately, Cassandra nodding soberly beside him.

“He’d do the same for us,” She says “We watch out for him, do our best to make sure he doesn’t get over-stressed, make sure he isn’t alone.”

“We should try to treat him like normal. Whenever possible.” Ezekiel volunteers quietly, a far away look in his eye. “It’s what I needed after…” He trails off, unwilling to actually mention the video game loop incident aloud but the other two get it. They nod in understanding.

Jake holds up one hand between them palm down. “Librarians?” he prompts. Cassandra and Ezekiel lay their hands over top of his. “Librarians.” They agree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg these three nerds just putting their hands together in the middle of a circle and saying 'Librarians' I'm honestly sorry I couldn't think of a cooler way to end that scene. I even went back to re-watch "the Trial of the Triangle" to see what they said for their circle of fellowship at the end there and they didn't say anything at all? Which is almost worse, what did they just stand there for a few moments staring silently until DOSA guy clears his throat? Ugh, you see what awkwardness I have to manage here?
> 
> Anyways, Flynn is gonna be alright whether he wants it or not, the LITs have Decided.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are you talking about, I'm GREAT at analogies.

They’re crowding him. Tag-teaming it to make sure he’s never alone or unaccounted for. Cassandra asks him for help with calculations that he knows, _he knows_ she can figure out on her own. Stone has been taking him to art galleries and museums and while it is nice to get out and discuss art with the man, Flynn’s starting to get real sick of the recycled low-humidity air, especially when there isn’t even any action. (though it kind of said something about his life didn’t it that he’s started looking forward to magical mayhem as a way to ease his boredom) Jones is less overbearing at least, which is incredible given his personality, but Flynn is dead certain that the kid had hacked his phone and maybe even implanted trackers into several of his shirt-hems.

He appreciates the sentiment from all of them, really he does, but after a few weeks pass and it doesn’t let up it starts to become ridiculous.

It’s not even subtle which is the worst part, and he can’t call them on it because aside from sticking to his back like glue they’re all behaving perfectly normal. As if everything is fine, as if he’s fine. And to call them out on it would be to admit that everything was not normal and not fine. It’s infuriating. As usual he complains to Eve.

“It’s as bad as the Cold War, honestly.” He announces to her one day after finally managing to get her alone and checking for a tail. She raises one eyebrow at him.

“The Cold War. Really.” she deadpans.

“Yes, exactly. They won’t leave me alone, I refuse to back down, and between us: mutually assured destruction.” He says dramatically.

“Uh-huh. Ok, you know, I don’t even know what this analogy is about but I can already tell it’s a terrible analogy.”

“It’s not a terrible analogy. I don’t make terrible analogies.” He protests. “It’s about the LITs.”

“Ah.” Her face loses some of its cynicism with understanding.

“The three of them are the Eastern Bloc, I’m the West. Jenkins, of course, is Switzerland.”

“Of course. And I’m…?”

“NATO.” He says with a ‘see what I did there’ grin. She smiles back.

“I think they’re just concerned for you.”

“They’re smothering me.”

“We’re all concerned for you, you know.” He still hadn’t talked to her, not really. He’d shared some details, given the barest bones report of what had happened to him— just enough to horrify her— and then backed off. Insisted he was fine, or would be fine he amended when she had looked at him skeptically. But he still didn’t sleep without a nightlight and all the sardonic ‘attractive man in his 40s who’s still afraid of the dark’ jokes in the world couldn’t make that funny.

“I know.” He sighs and rests his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I know they’re just trying to help, even if they’re doing the worlds most annoying job of it. It’s just…” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“What’s mutually assured destruction?” Eve asks, after a few minutes of silence.

“Oh. I um, I don’t exactly—“ He hesitates, but looks up into her face and makes himself finish. “Words. Open discussion. Things we don’t say, secrets. Scars.”

“Oh Flynn…” Eve kisses him gently and tender. She holds his face between her hands and it’s marvelous, being there. In Eve’s arms is quickly becoming Flynn’s favorite place to be.

“You know,” She says after a while “if you’re the one building walls then that makes _you_ the Eastern Bloc.” He scowls at that.

“Maybe it is a bad analogy.” He says. Eve chuckles and gives him another kiss. The moment breaks, but not painfully, and they start to head back towards the main room. Just before they pass the threshold Flynn squeezes her hand. “I’m trying.” He says. And then walks into the bright glow of the Annex to be swarmed by her other three charges.

A fond smile graces her face as she watches the antics of her four Librarians. They’re discussing a new case the Clippings Book has come up with, and it looks like it will take all of them out in the field on this one. If Flynn is trying than Eve can try even harder. She carefully labels and packs away her anxieties: no she can’t just insist Flynn sit out on jobs for her own peace of mind, no she can’t keep him within her eye-sight for the rest of his life, no she can’t force him to open up about his struggles until he’s ready to let her in, no no no. Cassandra and Stone and Jones are already trying his patience; she refuses to be one more overbearing presence that Flynn might perceive in any way as a constraint. If Flynn thought he was up for it, if he said he was ok, then she’d have to trust him on that whether or not it was the truth.

Colonel Eve Baird takes another deep breath before entering the room. It was time to save the world again. Twice before Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think Flynn wouldn't notice?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good ending to the Cold War. Thanks for reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the long awaited (hopefully) conclusion to this fic. This is the last chapter guys! I want to personally thank all my college classes, without their stresses and assigned work I would do anything to avoid, this story would never have been written. Cheers.
> 
> PS- I'm gonna polish up some of the earlier chapters as well because it's been bothering me. No big changes just some minor edits, a word here a tense change there, maybe a better line I thought up later. So if you're re-reading, first of all, thank you, and secondly don't think you're going crazy if the wording changes.

Colonel Baird’s raised voice alerts Flynn and the LITs (He should maybe stop calling them trainees all the time, after all they’ve been graduated for a while now but the name is too fitting. They go together: the three amigos, the musketeers, the terrible trio. His LITs.) to the fact that their mark, an antique auctioneer and main suspect for several weird occurrences causing the deaths of people who had bought his wares, is coming back. Immediately the four Librarians scramble for a hiding place in the cluttered office they’ve been scoping out for some sign of what artifact or magic could be at play here. Cassandra dives under the desk, Stone goes for the window, and Ezekiel straight up disappears, leaving Flynn with the coat closet.

It’s not until he’s inside and covering his mouth to keep his breathing quiet that it even occurs to him. How dark it is in here. How tight the space is. How stifling. Stupid, stupid librarian… He tries to focus on Eve’s voice talking to the man, using her NATO credentials to ask questions, in her element looking for clues just like they were. Until she convinces her quarry to leave the office and he can breathe easy again.

Except he can’t breathe easy, he can’t breathe at all. His skin goes cold, clammy, and his hands start to shake. It’s not the same he tells himself, viciously, it’s not the same. Focus, focus! He tries to close his eyes but that’s just more unhelpful darkness, if his vision were tunneling right now he wouldn’t be able to tell. Don’t do this— he pleads with himself—not here— not now— but it’s no use because suddenly despite his every effort Flynn is back in the cage again—

_He’s waiting and nothing happens. Something has to happen, eventually. Someone will come. He waits and no one comes. Nothing happens. He tries yelling in every language he knows, cursing and shrieking until his voice gives out and no one comes. He tries lying quiet and still as a corpse and no one comes. He tries holding his breath and no one comes. He kicks his feet and shakes at the bars and no one comes. He drifts in and out of consciousness and still, no one. Nothing happens. Something must -must- happen eventually but it doesn’t. They forgot about him he thinks. Or they’ve decided to be done with him and they’re just going to let him rot away here until he dies. He thinks he might even drop a hint about some Library secret if they would just come back with more truth serum, a small one, or a riddle, anything if someone would come. No one comes. Nothing happens. The thoughts in his head get so loud he can’t tell if he’s speaking or not, and then his thoughts get quiet like a music box winding down, like a blank screen, like static droning and droning until the sound is meaningless and he could have been here for a few days or for a thousand years and he can’t tell. He’s in a void like the Library was when it was lost. He’s lost and meaningless and nothing happens. He waits and he waits and he waits some more. No one comes. Nothing happens._

Until light breaks in and for a moment he thinks _water, they’re bringing me water again_ but they aren’t because— oh right he got out and he’s not there anymore— he’s on a mission with the others and he’d only been hiding for a few moments— the door hadn’t even been locked—he’s out—he’s ok— he’s out—

Flynn falls out of the closet like a broken mannequin, gasping for air and trying desperately to reorient himself.

Somewhere past his blind panic he can sense Jacob, Ezekiel and Cassandra trying to help him. Someone holds him off the floor and someone else is counting, trying to help him regulate his breathing. Some detached part of his mind can picture how he looks—white as a sheet, sweating and trembling—and he doesn’t want to do this in front of them, doesn’t want to do this at all, but he doesn’t have a choice apparently.

Flynn calms himself down as quickly as he is able.

When he comes back he’s holding someone’s hand—Cassandra—and he lets it go to reach for his pocket watch. He times his heartbeat as it slows down, calculates how long his flashback and subsequent panic attack took— only about twenty minutes even though it feels like he’s spent the whole day running from a minotaur— and tries to chart his symptoms onto a bell curve in his head of post-traumatic reactions until he finally feels strong enough to look anybody in the eye.

“Is there… a non-zero chance I can convince you all to forget this ever happened?” He asks. His voice is weak and he feels like death but he tries a smile on all the same. It doesn’t work. The three of them exchange serious, knowing glances as if they’d gone and gotten some sort of hive mind psychic hook-up when he hadn’t been looking. Only Jones deigns to answer him.

“Don’t think so, mate.” And Ezekiel actually looks sympathetic which is either a miracle, or the worst thing anyone has ever done to him.

Flynn can’t help his groan of frustration but allows Jake and Ezekiel to help him to his feet and lets himself be shepherded out of the office. They don’t even let him finish the search, though Stone assures him that the others looked and they hadn’t found anything suspicious so Flynn will just have to trust them on that.

And he does trust them, he does. But he hates this all the same. Every single instinct he’s cultivated over the past decade and more tells him that to survive he needs to be better than this. He needs to be at the top of his game, he can’t afford these sorts of weaknesses. And now, if anything he has more to lose. A whole little family of people who care about him, unconventional and mismatched as they were, that he’s responsible for. He brought them all into this life, into his life, and if something ever happened to any of them because he dropped the ball, because he was distracted, or sick, or anything—he doesn’t know what he would do with himself. It’s enough to send his anxiety careening off the walls.

It’d taken him months to get himself under control after what had happened with Apep and Anubis at the collider facility. Those terrible wretched hours when he’d thought Charlene was _murdered_ , where all those people died in a trap made for _him_ that he’d walked his fellow librarians right into like a panicked lemming off a cliff.

He can’t do that again. He _can’t_.

Flynn follows his LITs out of the building on autopilot as he silently chases his thoughts around his head until they wear grooves into his brain’s metaphorical floorboards.

He’s quiet until they’ve all rendezvoused together with Colonel Baird again. He’s quiet when Cassandra pulls Eve aside for a report which he knows will include a detailed and probably medically accurate down to his heart-rate account of his meltdown earlier. He’s quiet even while Jake and Ezekiel try to pull him into a distracting discussion and then argument. He’s quiet when Eve and Cassandra rejoin them as he waits to see what she’ll do with the information. He catches the look that Eve throws him and he sends her one in return that’s half reassurance and half pleading: a silent ‘not now’. She narrows her eyes to let him know that she will _not_ be letting this go but does steer the LITs back on track to brainstorming theories about the current mission. He stays quiet, relatively, throughout the mission giving suggestions as needed, making a few helpful observations, but letting the others take the lead. He stays quiet until they’re all back in the Library—home base—putting their newly acquired artifact away, tidying up all the loose ends. He’s quiet up until he can see everybody take a breath, start to turn toward him and he can just _feel_ another intervention coming on, like charged air before a storm, and even if he isn’t handcuffed in a chair this time he doesn’t feel any less trapped.

So Flynn opens his mouth to head them off by doing what he does best. He gets loud.

“Yes, ok! So I had a little flashback and minor panic attack, no reason for anyone to freak out on my behalf. Actually I’d say it’s been a long day all around so instead of doing anything rash, why don’t we all just mark down another successful mission and head home early, alright?”

“You had a panic attack?” Jenkins asked, somewhat startled. “Sir, if I may-“

“No you may not, Jenkins! You didn’t come to my last intervention so you don’t get to start one on me now. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“I’m sorry Flynn, but it’s not. We need to talk about this.” Eve’s voice is stern and worried in equal measure.

“No we don’t!” he explodes. His voice grows higher and more insistent as he goes on. “It was just a one-off thing! An unlucky coincidence! Next time I’ll remember what triggers to avoid, and it won’t be a problem. I won’t let it be a problem. It didn’t interfere with the mission.”

Ezekiel scoffs at him with his typical irreverence.

“You call a twenty minute meltdown not interfering with the mission? That’s one hell of a definition mate, what if we hadn’t been there? You could have hyperventilated in that cupboard for _hours_ before anyone knew better.”

Flynn can’t help the flinch, but he can give back as good as he gets.

“Like you’re one to talk Jones, I think we all know who among us has the most experience of meltdowns interfering with their work. Or do you call chronic insomnia and shaking hands just another quirk of being the world’s greatest thief? You’re lucky I let you go on missions at all!”

The expression of unguarded hurt that flashes across Ezekiel’s face is something Flynn’s photographic memory will never let him forget.

Mutually assured destruction indeed.

Flynn winces and turns his back against Cassandra’s affronted gasp and Jake’s furiously defensive “Hey what the hell man?” Jenkins’ emphatic “ _Mr. Carsen_ ” is filled with a world of rebuke, and shame burns like a live ember in his gut. Flynn bows his head and makes for the Annex staircase, the only thought in his mind a strategic retreat before he has a chance to mess up anything further. Eve reaches for him as he passes by but he shies from her touch without meeting her eyes. He ignores the calls for him to wait, to come back and talk things out, and he’s more than halfway up the stairs when Ezekiel speaks up again to say something that freezes him in his tracks.

“Maybe I _am_ one to talk, cause I do have experience. And so I know that you need help, because back then, I needed help. And if I remember correctly _you_ were one of the people who gave it to me.”

He says it like a challenge, bold and brash. Like rolling over to expose his soft underbelly to the world is a power play of extreme courage. It’s radical de-escalation. Utter disarmament. Damn the kid.

Flynn risks a glance back and sees in the faces looking up at him none of the disgust, annoyance, or rejection he feared but instead open compassion.

It’s in this moment that Flynn sees clearly; he has essentially two options. Option one: he can bail. He can run as hard and fast as he can into the deepest depths of the Library and beyond. He can leave Eve, Jenkins, and the LITs and the awful vulnerability of this conversation behind him. Deal with everything on his own and let time slowly bury the pain until he feels like he can handle being with other people again. They’ll understand. They’ll let him come back. Maybe. Or option two: he can stay and see what happens. It’s an unknown, and that terrifies him.

But Flynn is a _Librarian_ , exploring the unknown is what he _does_. Given a choice, he went for experiencing the unknown every time.

As soon as he makes the decision his legs buckle and he has to sit down hard on the staircase steps. All his frantic energy seems to bleed out of him and he feels his age in a way he doesn’t usually, just a tired man in a silly suit with messy hair who doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.

What happens next is that everyone climbs the staircase to sit down beside him. And Flynn finds himself fighting back tears from unexpectedly strong emotions of gratitude and relief.

It takes a few minutes of sitting in uncomfortable silence, but he swallows past the lump in his throat and eventually works up the nerve to meet Jones’ gaze.

“I’m sorry. Ezekiel. I shouldn’t have said that.“ He says.

Jones shrugs him off with his trademark smirk, but his dark eyes are serious.

“Nah, you shouldn’t have, but it’s ok. We’re good.”

Flynn nods and swallows down more lumps. He’s pressed up against the handrail bars of the staircase and the feeling burns in the back of his mind with a sickening memory of _other_ bars in _another_ place and he has to remind himself that he isn’t trapped here. That he is surrounded by friends.

“Mr. Carsen,” Jenkins, two steps down and leaning against the card catalog filing drawers, sounds even older and more tired than Flynn feels. “The position of Librarian often comes with certain… costs. Over the years, I’ve seen it consume other Librarians, men and women who were brilliant and capable yes, but eventually… the job became the _only_ thing that they were. They let the Library become their entire life, without taking any time for themselves, and they could still know everything they needed to know and do everything they needed to do but inside, they were hollowed out. Eventually they crumbled. Much of the purpose of having a Guardian, and Caretakers such as myself is to mitigate this effect.“

“Jenkins is right.“ Eve says as she gently takes his hand in hers. “This isn’t about the mission, we’re worried about _you_.”

And Flynn understands, he knows what they mean, he’s read all the literature, he knows all the psychiatric studies and psychology experts that affirm one of best treatments for a traumatic event is to talk it out with a trusted individual. To let out all his fears and feelings, so they can be expressed and understood, to put his experience into context so that he can move on from it but he _can’t_.

“I need to be better than this. I can’t afford— I have to be strong. I need to— I can’t… I just—can’t.” He tries to explain, his voice strained.

Jake speaks up from the step behind him, casually dropping a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Hey. There ain’t no shame in admitting weakness. Everybody’s got their thing that they’re not so good at. Everybody has limits. That’s why we’re here, working together, so that when you need a break other people are there to help pick up the slack. That’s how a team works.”

“And we won’t think any less of you, Flynn, you have to know that.” Cassandra adds. “I—we all think that you are so incredible. Sometimes I look at what we do everyday, what we have to deal with, saving the world all the time, and I imagine trying to do it without you guys, without everything you all do for me, and I’m not sure I could. I don’t want to. That you did that, for _years_ , is so amazing and admirable, Flynn, I know it had to be hard. But you don’t have to do it anymore. We’re here now.”

“So basically, just let us help,” says Ezekiel. “I mean if I had to sit through all the group hugs and kumbaya hoo-hah, then it’s only fair you do too. Deal with it.”

With a shaky laugh that’s barely two steps away hysterical crying Flynn admits to himself that maybe his LITs have some things to teach him as well. He shifts away from the handrail bars and instead leans into Eve’s side and that’s better. He feels… weird? Warm, and dare he say comforted?

Flynn takes a deep breath and gathers himself. Sharing, emotional unburdening. Ok. He can do this.

“I was alone for a very long time...” He starts, and he means it as both an apology and an explanation. He means it as _I never had to explain myself before because I was alone_ , and he means it as _I didn’t even realize I was lonely until I wasn’t alone,_ and he means it as _sometimes I’m not sure that I quite know how not to be alone anymore,_ and he means it as _I was alone in the small dark place where I was trapped and it did actually hurt a lot._

Around him sits the mismatched, unconventional, wonderful little family that had fallen right into his lap almost like magic. These incredible people, they listen to him and he thinks that they get it. He really thinks they understand.


End file.
